


Collision Course

by ZeePuri (ZeeCatfish)



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M, Tanegashima Shuuji: Agent of chaos, Tohno-typical violence mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29977659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeeCatfish/pseuds/ZeePuri
Summary: Touno Atsukyou meets Kimijima Ikuto in their first year of middle school, and it's all downhill from there.(Or, how many times can you make up and break up without ever getting together in the first place.)
Relationships: Tohno Atsukyou/Kimijima Ikuto
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pellinore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pellinore/gifts).



> For Aaya, who deserves things. My Touno is not quite your Touno but I hope you like him anyway.

The first time Kimijima and Touno meet goes something like this:

Touno is thirteen, the oldest in his class, and the pretty girls in higher grades that collect gothic fashion magazines and save up for dresses tell him he has nice hair. Looks aren't that big of a deal to country boys in elementary school, but he's in middle school now, and he should start looking after his appearance if he wants to score big.

(His elementary school friends seem torn between jealousy and discomfort when he informs them of this. He tells himself that means he's mature for his age.)

The tennis team makes it to the nationals, and he's allowed to tag along for moral support. The pretty girls crowd around him and plead with him to bring them back trinkets and clothes, they'll give him money in advance, promise, and because he's cool and understanding he agrees.

Except the club trip isn't exactly scheduled around clothes shopping, so he has to dash from store to store early in the morning, collecting cheap jewelry and a dress in a rush to make it to watch the match in time.

It's all a bit of a revelation to him, to be honest, and when the search for the dress had sent him into a Shibuya store dedicated to the kind of clothes he didn't actually think existed outside of vampire movie sets he'd been unable to resist buying himself a bracelet with pretty red stones that sparkle in the sun like freshly drawn blood. Everyone's going to find it so cool.

So he isn't really thinking of much beyond 'oh shit I am so late and the coach is going to murder me' while he's speedwalking through throngs of people, attempting to dodge enough of them to be able to sprint the last part to the courts.

Unfortunately, he's so busy dodging the _adults_ that he doesn't realise there's a boy standing in the middle of the sidewalk, squinting at the directional signs until he's already ran staight into him, sending the both of them sprawling.

"Ow-" the other boy hisses, in a very American way Touno doesn't think he's ever heard outside of the westerns his dad watches with him sometimes.

"Fuck," he agrees, glancing over at his shopping bag to make sure it has survived the encounter.

"Um. Could you please move?" There's a strange lilt to the way the boy talks. An accent, maybe? His word order is a little stilted too, far too formal, and Touno is just about to ask him why he's being so damn polite because he's not a goddamn fossil when their eyes meet and, oh. _Oh._

He's only thirteen, he's never really thought about these things beyond liking the attention the older girls pay to him over his hair, but this kid is _pretty_. His hair is black and silky, his eyes are wide and round and he's never met anyone with teeth that straight and white before in his life.

A flash of annoyance passes over the boy's face, so quick Touno almost misses it, before melting into a placid smile. "I am sorry if I startled you, but could you please get off of me?"

"Sorry!"

There is nothing cool about the way Touno scrambles to get up on his feet, though he hopes he redeems himself a little when he holds out a hand to help the other kid up.

"Ah, it's alright," the boy says, excessively politely.

 _Foreign,_ Touno realises. Maybe he's Chinese or Korean?

"You have a tennis bag," the boy says, eyeing the school-issued bag he'd brought with him as a formality. Sure, he probably wouldn't get to play, but if the team got far enough to keep them here a few days he'd still need to practice. "You wouldn't happen to know where the tennis courts are, would you?"

Touno glances at the street signs the boy had been staring at, which don't have any furigana on them, and suddenly bullying this boy feels like the most important thing he's ever going to do. It's only right, for being so pretty in ways boys shouldn't be.

"Yah, sure," he drawls in the strongest tsugaru accent he can muster. "It's over that way." He points towards where some food courts are, one of several directions written with the katakana _kooto_ in them.

It takes genuine effort not to laugh at the baffled face the boy makes, clearly not capable of following any of the dialect, but he gathers himself admirably and seems to assume the pointed direction is genuine. "Ah, thank you very much. Are you headed the same way?"

Touno shakes his head, not saying anything. He's pretty sure if he does he'll end up laughing himself sick.

"Well then, thank you for your help." The boy leaves, patting the creases out of his school uniform and looking weirdly unruffled for someone who just got run over.

Touno doesn't think much of it for the rest of the day, aside from occasionally grinning to himself wondering how lost the boy got before finding the tennis courts. They're probably not going to meet again anyway.

\---

They meet again the next day, on opposite sides of the stands watching their seniors duke it out to see who'd be making it to the semifinals. The boy responds to his cheeky smirk with a cool smile that makes his face look cold in a way that winds Touno's insides right into knots.

His school wins, but the boy walks off with a perfect posture and an unbothered smile before Touno can rub his face into their victory. (Or maybe, like, apologise for being a dick.)

\---

It's not until he gets back home he realises he's lost his new bracelet.

\---

In his second year, Touno wins.

Well, not the nationals, maybe, but life in general? Yeah, he's totally winning that.

First he makes it onto the regulars, and not even as reserve. The captain tells him he's got the talent to go far (with, granted, some caveats about personality and teamwork, but Touno is too busy looking at his shiny new jersey to listen to tacky locker room pep talks), and he's generally taking care of their singles 2 slot for the whole school tournament run.

Then the cutest girl in their year asks him out, and sure, the shy teenage girl thing doesn't really work on him, but she'll probably get over it? And like, all the boys in class are totally jealous. He is the alpha now.

And then their history teacher tells them about the french revolution, and sure, it's mostly a footnote in their classes, but Marie Antoinette tried to flee Paris and got sentenced to death, and Touno fell in love with a fantasy of the guillotine's blade.

Within weeks he'd devoured every book their local library had to offer on historical trials ending in execution.

Anime shirts and cheap flannels bought by his mom phased out of his free time wardrobe, replaced by leather straps and chains, never too overstated, just far enough past the borders of normal it made people look twice.

He was, he thought to himself, becoming a man.

The boy he'd met at nationals the previous year scarcely crossed his thoughts, and it took him a second to recognise him on their opposing team's bench, next to their coach.

He wasn't on their active lineup. Touno didn't try very hard not to look smug at that, but he did try at least a little bit.

He's wearing eyeliner this time, and his eyes no longer look wide and doe-like the way they had before. He watches the matches with a cold calculation that clashes weirdly with the chipper friendliness he dials up whenever anyone talks to him.

Maybe Touno's overthinking this.

They win, the boy's team loses, and if Touno notices he's got really nice legs when he stands up to console his teammates then nobody has to know.

Especially not his girlfriend.

\---

The whole girlfriend thing doesn't quite last into his third year, but that's okay. She was a little too sweet for him, he's more into the feisty ones.

He's a little confusing to his classmates these days; he's fashionable in a city kind of way, grows his hair past his chin and special orders books on iron maidens and viking law. He hangs out with the girls rumored to have bled a rat out for a dark magic ritual, and his voice doesn't so much drop as grow louder, and a little more maniacal.

He's also their school's star athlete.

Oh he's not the captain or anything, nobody is quite stupid enough to put him in charge, but he's fast and skilled and his focus on the courts scares the shit out of people.

It's even better against opponents he's played against before; he can smell the fear in the air, see it in their eyes. They know he'll hit balls where their joints will protest returning them, send them whizzing where their only options are losing the point or eating the ball _with their face_.

He _loves_ being dangerous.

History is frought with beheadings of the rich and powerful who fell from grace, but Touno has read enough to know that humans have invented a hundred more creative ways to kill.

He may have been born in the wrong century entirely to apply any of them to people, but he's in the right one to channel them into tennis. He's pretty sure it'll make him unbeatable.

Except he's a third year now, and he can't just wave other competent players off as just older anymore. If the curly blond with the glasses and the pretty one with the platinum hair had been spread throughout their lineup instead of crammed together in doubles the Osakans might have ended their run at the nationals real early this time.

Which, considering they're the only ranking team from Aomori, would have been embarassing. The terror twins, who would have been serious competition in their regional run if their teachers hadn't made the mistake of putting them _in charge_ , would never let him hear the end of it.

There's a lot of demons in the Tokyo circuit that being on an away team leaves them ill prepared for, but they claw their way up to the semi-finals with several hard-earned victories.

He picks up a necklace with a dragon's breath opal pendant in a store on the morning of his next match, because a dodgy fortune teller tells him his lucky color is purple. He's not superstitious, but there's no harm in getting a little extra luck on his side if it also makes him look good.

\---

The fourth time Touno meets Kimijima Ikuto goes sort of like this:

\---

It isn't as violent as their first meeting, not as chilly as their second, and he isn't staring quite as sadly as he was the third. In fact, he's not the one to seek the boy out at all this time.

He's in front of a vending machine, idly playing around with the pendant of his new necklace as he tries to decide on a drink. (grape juice isn't really his thing, but then, it _is_ purple…)

"It's Touno-kun, isn't it?" a pleasant voice pipes up behind him, just soft and smooth enough that Touno doesn't startle, even though he hadn't noticed anyone approach at all.

The accent has faded entirely, and while still more formal than anything Touno would adress someone his own year with, the stilted clunkiness to his speech is gone. Whether he's Chinese or Korean or something else entirely, he's acclimatised well.

"What's it to you," Touno says rudely, partially because he's rude and partially because he's caught off guard by how perfectly subtle the boy's eyeliner is, and the way his skin seems to have a shimmer to it. Is he actually wearing make-up to a school sports tournament?

"No need to get defensive," the boy says, holding his hands up and smiling a disarmingly nice smile. Touno remembers the calculated coldness on his face when he'd watched the game last year, and thinks that if his current pleasantness is fake he might just have a future in acting.

The boy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bracelet with a red bead on it, and holds it out towards him.

"I believe this is yours." It's not just his eyes, damnit. His fingernails are perfectly maintained, and he's wearing some see-through glossy coat over them. Touno can respect that sort of dedication to appearances, even if the polite adherence to social norms oozing off this guy kind of rubs him the wrong way.

"The fuck do you still have that for?" he asks, genuinely baffled, because sure, it was a cool bracelet but he'd also bought it for all of one thousand yen two years ago. It wasn't exactly a precious lost heirloom, and it didn't look like one either.

"I would have returned it to you earlier," the boy says, eyes crinkling with mirth, and fuck, this guy is actually really charming and Touno isn't ready to deal with that. "But I was a little peeved at the time, I'm sure you understand."

Right. Because he'd given him bad directions, like a dickhead.

Looking at him now, all perfectly groomed class president type sugar, Touno is absolutely convinced he deserved it. Good job, 12-year-old self.

"You always keep random strangers' shit?" Touno asks, because he has to say _something_.

"Just the ones that leave an impact," the boy says with a wink, and that's so bad Touno doesn't even pretend not to groan.

The boy laughs, and there's something syrupy, almost artificial about his laugh, but before Touno can process that he's suddenly right there, up in his face.

"You've got an eyelash-… there," he says, wiping a finger over Touno's face and holding it up for him to see, far too close for him to actually see much of anything, before stepping back out of his space.

It's like a goddamn shoujo anime cliche. Touno gapes at him like a fish out of water.

He's not really a people person in the way some people are, there's cues and insinuations he misses, usually because he doesn't care to see them. He's not sure he's reading things right, wouldn't take any poison on the gamble, but…

The twinkle in the boy's eye as he steps back, glances Touno over from head to toe, feels _mean_.

Nothing else about his demeanor hints at malice, there's no other clues that the strange moment, loaded with so much tension that Touno reaches up just to make sure his hair isn't standing up with some sort of static, was anything but some odd misunderstanding.

"I just came here to give you back your bracelet," the boy tells him pleasantly, glancing over his shoulder where a pack of other kids in the same tennis uniform hover, waiting. "But it's been a pleasure to meet you, _Touno-kun_."

His voice is smooth and pleasant as he says it, and Touno gives him a wide-eyed nod.

"By the way," the boy calls over his shoulder, a few steps away, "my name is Kimijima. I look forward to playing you."

\---

Because of course, once he meets up with the rest of his team the coach announces the lineup; singles 1, Touno-Kimijima.

Touno is going to kill him.

\---

Killing Kimijima is actually a pretty straightforward affair. A few quips that are too polite to really land aside, Kimijima plays just as politely as his gamely handshake before the match. The only real hurdle on the road to his impending demise is that for all that he plays an incredibly boring hand, he plays it impeccably.

"You should watch your temper," Kimijima calls out, looking far too relaxed for someone who is losing a fast and loose game that will cost him his shot at the nationals. Touno aims a ball right at his nose in retaliation.

"That's just unnecesary," Kimijima complains affably as he sidesteps the ball, swishing his racket around his wrist elegantly. "You could hurt someone."

"Oh I plan to," Touno growls at him as the unpire calls for them to switch places.

He's not sure why he's so angry, honestly. There's something about Kimijima's nonchalance, the audacity to not care about a match Touno has been training for all year on top of the way he'd pulled the rug out from under Touno's self image earlier.

'Surely I can't be gay' is an absolutely useless train of thought to be having in the middle of a goddamn tennis match.

"How scary~" Kimijima says with an airy laugh, like he's dismissing some small child, and Touno is very tempted to just say screw the match entirely and just strangle him instead. It'd be worth the disqualification, probably.

Instead he hits his nastiest serve, fully intending to clip Kimijima's shoulder.

"Your aim is getting sloppy," Kimijima sing-songs at him across the court, hitting the ball back seemingly with ease, and something weird happens.

The opponent's stands, which have been gravely watching their representative weather evisceration, seem to sense some sort of turn in the weather. The silence shatters; a girl with a stunningly loud voice begins chanting their school's slogan, the others clap in unity.

Touno isn't one to get distracted by the crowds, usually, but the suddenness of the shift is unsettling.

Kimijima hits a cutting slice, still looking frustratingly put together, and darts up to the net to intercept the next ball.

"It's a pity anger makes you careless," Kimijima calls out, and does this guy just _not. stop. talking?_ "I could get used to seeing you like this, _Touno-kun._ "

Touno came prepared for frustration, for anger, for fear. What he didn't come prepared for? _Flirting_.

It's not even too overt. It's not like Kimijima is saying he wants to fuck right out there on the field or anything. Still, his mind flashes back to that odd moment by the vending machines, and he's out of it just long enough for the ball to arch over his head and primly bounce in the corner of the field, barely inside the lines.

Fifteen-love.

 _He's fucking with me,_ Touno realises, and his vision sparks with anger. He's not sure how or why, but he's absolutely sure Kimijma is deliberately messing with his head.

Shrieking in anger, he hits another ball, meaner, nastier than before, fully intending to hurt.

Kimijima, the asshole, hits it back. And the next, and the next.

Touno's stamina isn't bad, but rage is draining him faster than he's prepared for as Kimijima turns the tide on him, switching between condescension and faux friendly remarks with a hint of flirtation to them, a barrage too constant for Touno to regain his footing.

He's forgotten all about mundane things like scores by the time the umpire calls the game, much more preoccupied by wanting to claw that perfectly smug smile of that perfectly smug face with its perfectly smug water-resistent make-up on.

It feels surreal, after the confused anger-embarrassment-hunger of the past… he can't even begin to guess how much time elapsed since the match started, and he's not sure how to process that he's lost.

Auto-pilot has him walking towards the net, grasping the hand held out to him, and he's halfway to forcing out an insincere 'thanks for the game' when Kimijima opens his fucking mouth.

"I'd say good game, Touno-kun," he says sweetly, soft enough there's no way anyone but them can hear over the thunderous applause from the stands. "But you play as poorly as you give directions."

It's not particularly cutting as far as insults go, but the delivery comes with a perfectly lovely smile and a friendly wink that make for such a bizarre contrast that Touno won't think of a decent retort until hours later, on the bus home.

He was right, he thinks mutely as he watches Kimijima walk off to join his celebrating teammates. This guy is _mean_.

This knowledge, unfortunately, does not detract from his attractiveness at all.

\---

Watching from the stands during the finals later, Touno cannot fucking believe he lost against this guy.

Kimijma's techniques are shaky. He's similarly chatty the next time he plays, but without an apparent psychological hook to try and trip his opponent with he loses without much fanfare.

If Touno hadn't let him get into his head he would have crushed him like a particularly pretty bug. Somehow that only makes things worse.

Fuck this, he thinks as he stares at Kimijima, who doesn't look as frustrated about losing as he should have. There's no way he's going to give him any more of his headspace.

He's going to go home to Aomori, and purge this asshole from his brain.

\---

Two months later some fourteen-year-old jackass with bleached-blond hair and glasses goes spectacularly viral and every girl in his class is immediately smitten.

Kimijima-writes-his-own-lyrics-even-though-he's-in-middle-school, they whisper excitedly, clutching cute bag straps in garish pink and yellow, colors his management seems to have settled on for branding. Kimijma-sings-like-an-angel. Kimijma-is-so-amazing.

It's just a name, Touno reminds himself as he angrily stabs his pencil at the dying stickmen in the margins of his notes. This shallow little wannabe idol can't help that he happens to share a name with the biggest asshole on the tennis circuit.

From what he can tell from the posters, aside from the glasses this other Kimijima (apparently his stage name is Kimijee, but that doesn't seem to be catching on) looks exactly like every other tryhard with an agency out there, including the heavy photoshop and dry bleached hair frizz.

Maybe hating this guy instead will relieve some of the frustrated tension that's been knotting up his gut. Probably not, but it's worth a shot.

\---

The year gets confusing; his father gets a job transfer to Tokyo, his mother stays behind so he can finish school in Aomori. Once he graduates middle school they come home to a fully furnished apartment in Tokyo devoid of either of them, and it leaves his mother unsettled.

His father's income can suddenly stretch to allow for him to attend a high school with a good fucking team, and the elite among the Tokyo teams turn out to be an incestuous cluster of shared practice sessions and friendly rivalries.

It's nothing like dealing with the terror twins and their team of hillbillies, the only other truly ambitious team in the region.

Fashion boutiques aren't limited to day trips anymore, and Shibuya's many-faced fashion scene welcomes him with open arms, lets him expand on the sharp edges and velvet he fell in love with in magazines.

In the city, being different makes him less the outsider that catches stares and whispers. There's enough people similar to him that people roll their eyes and chalk it up to youth, and what disdain he might get is easily smoothed out with the flattery of curious street style photographers that sometimes take his picture.

He grows his hair out, and pretty girls tell him they love it.

A boy with wildly coiffed grey-black hair and heavy eyeliner adresses the beast Kimijima awoke in his last year of middle school, the same beast that ate him alive from the inside out in frustration when Kimijima never showed up during the school tournament.

Bisexuality, he learns from this boy, is awesome, and there was never anything to be afraid of. People have been calling him the executioner lately, and he's pretty sure that means that if anyone has a problem with it he should just kill them.

The relationship itself is shallow and burns out in less than three days, but the newfound knowledge about his sexuality is here to stay. And really, suck it, Kimijima. He won't be able to use it against Touno anymore.

Kimijima in the meanwhile, -the idol, not the player- is everywhere.

Kimijee never caught on, but Kimi-sama becomes a commonly heard name, as he expands from music into into modelling. There is something deeply disturbing about the first time advertisements featuring a fifteen-year-old boy dominate the Shibuya crossing, and Touno can't help but feel Kimijima's eyes following him the whole time he'sthere.

He finds out that Kimi-sama is a tennis player because his stupid Cola Vita ads use the information to sell their sports drinks. It's confusing, because he's absolutely sure he's never seen this kid anywhere near any tennis meets.

Kimijima's school team isn't ranked, which probably explains that part. The 'genius tennis BOY, all caps' Kimijima primarily dominates in non-school regulated tournaments.

(He's like, this sure he sees Kimijima cringe when they call him that in an interview, but it's hard to tell. He's got a good poker face.)

So really, he shouldn't have been surprised when he hears the first whispers of 'Kimi-sama' among the handful of first years present at the prestiguous under 17 selection camp.

\---

There's a few others he recognises. Tanegashima and Irie, the doubles pair he remembers from Osaka, arrogant Byoudoin, Ochi Tsukimitsu, who is just flat out impossible to overlook. The fucking terror twins are there, unsociable and co-dependent as ever.

They're tossed head-first into a test meant to send half of them home, and against all odds several absolute monsters rise to the challenge, especially among those Touno has never heard of.

Oni, a scary looking bastard from somewhere down south crushes Byoudoin up like an empty soda can. Oomagari, a scruffy boy who looks like he'd rather be napping than be here takes out a pretty boy with fluffy hair and a foul mouth with some weird multi-racket style that is probably illegal.

He fancied himself the best Japan has to offer, but it's looking like he might have to work on it some more. It's exciting.

Kimijima (the idol), is apparently the cat in a drawn out game of cat and mouse with Irie that seems to leave them both annoyed at the end, but he wins. Having seen Irie play seriously (probably) before, even just once, that surprises Touno. He's kind of disappointed the match happened at the same time as his own, actually.

Touno takes out Matsudaira, who just doesn't have the discipline to keep up with him. It's a shame, because he seems to know a thing or two about hair-care, and Touno's is getting so long he welcomes advice to reduce split ends.

Ochi takes out fellow former captain Miyako, the remaining twin is supposedly the older one but Touno has known them long enough to not trust that at face value.

Touno gets assigned the weird room, with Tanegashima, Oomagari and a Mutsu. They're not friends, really, so he doesn't call him out on his deceit, but he's known them like eight fucking years and the younger Mutsu is a little less of a troublemaker. Yuuma hasn't stuck his nose anywhere it doesn't belong yet, so Yuuma is probably not Yuuma at all. Whatever.

Tanegashima becomes Shuuji in the span of like, maybe twenty minutes, and Touno is really glad he's confronted the whole bisexuality thing before coming here, because he's fun and cute and, well, absolutely infuriating, but that's easier to overlook than it should be somehow.

Shuuji's also a bit of a leaf on the breeze, though. He flirts back, but he's so flippant Touno wonders if he's got his shoes lined with lead or something. Surely it's not natural that he hasn't been blown off with the first best breeze yet.

He doesn't even need to be rejected to shelve whatever that might have started beforehand.

Kimijima actually spends very little time at the camp. Apparently he's also filming something nearby, and he gets called away a lot for it.

Touno complains to Shuuji and the other two that Kimijima shouldn't be here if he's not going to take things seriously, and Shuuji spends a solid three minutes doubled over laughing, and refuses to explain why. Oomagari and Yuuma-who-is-probably-Yuuho seem to have already accepted this as normal Shuuji behavior.

It's kind of weird, sharing camp space with a celebrity but somehow never crossing paths.

If it weren't so absolutely unthinkable, Touno would almost assume he's being avoided. But there's no reason for their resident idol to even recognise him beyond his spreading infamy as the executioner of the tennis courts.

Actually, he considers as he pulls out a book on chinese history that google tells him has some in-depth insights about several historical torture methods, that might be it. His reputation isn't very idol compatible. Kimijima probably worries Touno is going to damage his photogenic nose or something.

…If he's aware of Touno's reputation at all, that is, and Touno isn't just imagining things.

\---

It's wholly by accident he walks in on Kimijima getting sternly (?) reprimanded by coach Saitou.

"It's not that we're not willing to work with your schedule," he's saying. "But there's a lot of competition to even be allowed to attend here, Kimijima-kun. If you're not here often enough for our training to benefit you, well, I'm not sure why you came here at all."

"My apologies," Kimijima says, sounding… tired? Well, it is past ten in the evening. Training is intense enough Touno would probably be in bed by now, if it weren't for the sudden cravings for an evening snack. It's not the weirdest time to be sounding tired. "I underestimated my, ah, work schedule, I'll e-mail my manager tonight."

"You should wait until tomorrow at least," Saitou tells him with a laugh and a pat on the head. "It's usually the third years I have to warn about overdoing it. You're fifteen, Kimijima-kun. Get some rest, don't skip breakfast, tell somebody no every once in a while."

Touno is pretty sure he's not meant to hear any of this, and decides he should probably focus on an exit strategy instead of listening to Kimijma's uncomfortable assurance he doesn't have trouble saying no (while, of course, not saying no).

He shuffles back quietly and takes a left at the next hallway he comes across, unfortunately forgetting that one ends in a dead end right up until he finds himself looking at the locked door into the equipment storage like an idiot.

At least when he finds Kimijma standing in the midle of the hallway once he doubles back he doesn't look entirely guilty of eavesdropping, even if he does almost walk straight into the guy.

In Touno's defense, the middle of the hallway seems like it would be a logical collision risk factor.

"Wha- oh. Ah," Kimijima looks startled, then annoyed, then tired, then steps back. There's a facility map on the wall he's standing in front of, and maybe it makes sense he doesn't know the way four days in, because he's barely been around.

"Can't find your room?" Touno asks, because he's late and this guy looks like he hasn't slept all year. "First years rooms are at the last hallway to the right."

Kimijma (the idol, who definitely doesn't maintain his billboard charisma this close) gives him a kind of constipated look. "And you're headed that way yourself, I'm sure."

"Huh? No, I was headed for the kitchen, actually. Got some homework I need brain food to power through." Hopefully Kimijima doesn't know enough about the layout to find the direction he came from strange. He needs a map, after all. He probably wouldn't.

"The kitchen," Kimijima says, sounding strained. "Well, have fun with that, I suppose."

He turns back to the map, like Touno hasn't just told him where to go, and Touno shuffles in place awkwardly. He does have a few more kit-kat bars he could snack on instead, and it feels kind of wrong to leave Kimijima hovering here.

"You, uh, need me to walk you back?" Maybe that's why he asked?

"Would you actually walk me to my room?" Kimijima asks with narrowed eyes, which makes him look strangely familiar. There's layers to the question that Touno might be better at deciphering if it were't past ten.

"Uh, yeah? Not like there's much else to go?" Not with the creepy robo guard dogs around.

There's a pause at Kimijima scrutinises him intensely. It's kind of uncomfortable.

"Sure," he decides eventually, and why was this guy known for his charisma again? He's rally just kind of rude. "Lead the way."

It's an awkward two minutes walk back to their hallway, during which Touno considers trying to make conversation and Kimijima somehow wordlessly stonewalls the attempt.

So, maybe he was right and the guy has been avoiding him. Which is, weird, but he's got long hair and a penchant for yelling about murder. He's probably not really the type budding celebrities would seek out.

"Yo, Atsu~," Shuuji greets from the doorway before walking (fluttering) over to them. "And the local celebrity! Having a nighttime stroll? How scandalous~☆."

Touno's ears burn red at the tips, and he can pretty much hear the suggestive emoji thrown somewhere in there. No human being should be capable of speaking unicode stars out loud, but Shuuji probably doesn't qualify as fully human anyway.

"I'm just helping out out," he bristles defensively. Kimijima snaps out an equally hard "That is not what's happening," at exactly the same time.

"Uh-huh!" Shuuji agrees chipperly. "Totes. Hey, Kimi-kimi, I wanna talk to you for a sec, c'mon."

Touno is not consulted further as Shuuji drags Kimijma to, well, the other end of the hallway, creeps an arm around his shoulder and begins animatedly telling him something.

A little baffled, Touno watches Kimijima go from surprised to confused to… amused? The pair of them glance his way, share a look and burst out into giggles like a pair of schoolgirls.

This is the scariest thing he's ever experienced, and Touno decides that the manliest option he could take here is to flee.

\---

Whatever grudge Kimijima had been holding evaporates after Shuuji gets to him, and the next morning he joins their room at breakfast, seemingly content to let a sleepy Shuuji cuddle into his shoulder.

Which is weird, because Touno is pretty sure the conversation they had yesterday was their first one ever, but also because Tanegashima Shuuji is a godless morning person who skips off to the showers before sunrise humming exactly loud enough to wake everyone else in the room. He's pretty sure their annoyance sustains him, keeps his skin clear and his his spirit youthful.

Kimijima, apparently also a morning person, chats with a weirded out looking Yuuma (actually Yuuho, definitely not a morning person) while typing out something long on his phone.

Oomagari looks unimpressed, but it's hard to tell if that's related to anything else. Honestly, probably not.

\---

"Kimijma, Touno," coach Kurobe calls out during practice that day. "Doubles practice. Pair up."

It's a baffling choice. They're so different it's guaranteed to end up in a murder-suicide or something equally horrendous.

It's the beginning of the end, thinks Touno Atsukyou, sixteen years old.

He's wrong. It's the end of the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

Touno has never really played doubles before, never really considered he could. He's a very competent singles player and too much of an eccentric to lend well to group projects. Why would he waste his time on doubles?

Saitou hovers with ominous friendliness while Kurobe assigns them all to pairs, intensely scribbling notes seemingly based on their reactions. It's another psych test, and Touno is confident he's going to come out as 'impossible'.

"Alright," Saitou yells, leaning over the railing with his hand cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice, even though there is a megaphone on the ground right next to him. "You'll be playing one-game matches. Keep an eye on the score-board, it'll tell you who you're playing next. Coach Kurobe and I will be switching up team assignments throughout, so expect to be playing with a few people through the day."

Court 9 is just high enough up that there's not a lot of first years, and they're the only ones matched from the go.

"Have you played doubles before?" Kimijima asks, testing the tension on his racket.

"Nope," Touno says with a shrug. The first assigned matches are popping up on the score-board, and he's a little surprised to see a couple of court 8 and 7 names pop up there as well. They haven't done much mixing and matching outside of shuffle matches. "Well, I've played a few times, but nothing too serious."

Kimijma nods. "That doesn't surprise me. Well, if you're willing to let me call some of the shots-"

"Look, this is just a routine thing they're doing to check out which suckers they can stick into doubles practice," Touno interrupts him. "I really don't care. I'm just going to play my way and see what happens."

A sigh, a roll of his eyes. Kimijima's eyes aren't as round and kind in person as they are on billboards, and Touno gets the feeling he's missing something. "Very well. I'll just stay out of your way then."

The older students in their current court brackets aren't actually too interesting. They're good in terms of national averages, but unlike the ones in the top courts, the age advantage doesn't give them much of a head start anymore.

The doubles practice rounds go lightning fast, with alternating serves creating an interesting display of techniques right off the bat. As promised, Kimijima mostly stays out of the path of Touno's executions, sticking mostly to the back.

It kind of startles him, the first time Kimijima sends a ball he missed whizzing back right past his ear.

They win three games before Kurobe splits them up. Touno gets stuck with a second year, a third, another third, Mutsu (Yuuho), a second years, Oomagari, Kimijima again.

Oomagari is the only other one he's paired with for more than a single game, even though they spend their entire match competing over the front-end of the court.

Touno doesn't want to admit it, because it's kind of embarassing; Kimijima is fun to play with. He's reliable, sticks to his own corner and picks up the balls Touno misses. More importantly, he doesn't seem overly concerned with trying to coordinate any kind of strategy, so Touno doesn't have to threaten him into shutting the fuck up.

Because the coaches are dicks, they dismiss practice with a vague promise of incorporating the results into everyone's individual training advice once they've talked things over, and Touno naively assumes that to be the end of that.

\---

There probably would have been more time dedicated to discussion about the doubles results, but that night Touno runs into Byoudoin on his snack run, gets firmly warned to speak no word of it, and camp gets a whole lot more interesting after that.

The very next evening, the black-clad losers swarm the fourth court and eat them alive, and Touno realises he can't languish around the ninth like some complacent loser.

\---

"For today's shuffle matches," Kimijima starts over breakfast. Their little group has been joined by the other Mutsu twin, and they're clearly having some difficulty figuring out whether to swap their names back or not. "I'd like to take on fifth court."

"You're not that good, Kimijima," Touno says, pointing at him with a butter knife. "I've seen you play, you're all talk."

Shuuji starts to laugh.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Kimijima says drily. "I was going to ask if you wanted to join me, but I suppose that's out of the question."

Oomagari leans forward, apparently suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Wait, what?" 'Join him' surely doesn't mean-

"We did well during practice," Kimijima says, studying his nails. "Even though they're older, most doubles pairs here have been formed at camp. They won't be too much more accustomed to one another than we are."

"I'm a _singles player,_ " Touno reminds him, diligently ignoring Shuuji's continued wheezing. "You're just trying to capitalise on how cool my executions are."

"Fishing for compliments?" Kimijima doesn't look overly impressed, and gently reaches out next to him to clamp a hand over Shuuji's mouth. "You're a competent player. Get between Byoudoin and Oni and you'll get torn apart."

That's probably right, but that doesn't stop Touno from baring his teeth at Kimijima menacingly.

"And now you look like a dog. Maybe I _should_ rescind that offer." He sips his tea nonchalantly. "There's no shame in playing doubles, you know."

"Who fuckin' said anything about shame? I just don't need your baggage holding me down pretty boy." He's being manipulated. He can _tell_.

Kimijima reaches out across the table with his free hand and condescendingly pats him on the head. "You don't need to tell me I'm pretty, but thank you. I apologise for insulting your strong singles pride. I am sure you are unbeatable and my baggage and I will tragically wilt in the doubles lane. Alone."

"You're going for doubles?" Oomagari asks, sounding curious. "Didn't strike you as the type to share the stage."

"On stage I'm the star," Kimijima agrees, "but I don't mind sharing the court. I'm a… people person."

"I wanna play doubles with San-san~," Shuuji interjects, once he's pried Kimijima's hand off of his face. "That sounds fun."

"Am I San-san?" Kimijima asks, a little confused. "I thought it was Kimi-kimi?"

"Don' try to make sense of it," Oomagari advises. "That hasn't worked out for anyone yet."

With the topic of doubles shelved for the moment, Touno focuses on cramming another egg roll into his mouth instead. Kimijima and Oomagari can try to wrangle Shuuji on their own.

\---

Riled, Touno challenges Oni to a game during that day's shuffle matches.

It doesn't work out.

\---

"Fine," he tells Kimijima the next morning. The twins are off elsewhere and Shuuji has been annexed by Irie for the morning, so Oomagari and Kimijima are enjoying a peaceful morning that Touno is probably crashing.

"Excuse me?"

"Fine, I'll play doubles with you." Judging by the sly little smile that earns him, Kimijima knew exactly what he meant even without clarification."But if this doesn't work out it's your fault."

"Such a burden."

\---

The pair of third years in court 3 Kimijima singles out to challenge are cocky, and Touno takes great joy in their execution.

Kimijima looks kind of disturbed, like he hadn't quite anticipated the cost of moving up in the world.

\---

They're not the kind of camp-wide sensation Oni and Byoudoin are, but there's definitely a buzz after their first official victory. There's whispers that, sure, maybe they're not there yet, but next year? There's _potential_ there.

So maybe doubles wasn't really where Touno saw his tennis career going, but who is he to argue with labels like 'potential'?

Because he's hilarious he gets two bottles of Cola Vita to celebrate their rise in the ranks, and heads for Kimijima's room.

(It's two doors down from theirs. He had to ask Shuuji to find out, and then had to bribe him with his last Kit-kat to keep quiet about it.)

The door is opened by one of the mountain campers Touno hasn't said more than two words to. Mimi-something? Migi-something? Whatever.

"'S Kimijima in?" he asks, hands in his pockets and feigning nonchalance.

"Ah, Kimi-sama's partner," Mi-something mutters, and he does seem to have the uppity kind of quality that would have him room with a celebrity. "Sure, one moment."

Please hold, Touno thinks. What a boring person.

Kimijima comes out after a moment, looking kind of disheveled, like he's just finished a shower. There's something odd about him, but Touno isn't immediately sure what it is.

"Yes, what is it- oh, _Touno-kun_."

It's the first time Kimijima has said his name, he realises. Except, it's really not, because-

"You _fucker_ ," Touno shrieks.

Kimijima isn't wearing his glasses. He's not wearing his perfect fucking eyeliner either, and his hair is still poorly dyed blond, but without the glasses it's obvious that, well. Okay, so, maybe Touno is just a moron.

Kimijima blinks at him, looking momentarily confused before a genuinely delighted grin breaks out across his face.

"Don't you dare," Touno growls.

Kimijima slaps his hands over his mouth, but it's not enough to hide the hiccuping laughter bubbling up, and Touno wiggles his hands at him threateningly.

So, maybe assuming that two tennis players with the same name and the same age living in the same city were two separate people was, in hindsight, kind of dumb.

That doesn't stop Touno from leaping on top of Kimijima and digging his fingers into his side until he pleads for mercy after he chokes out a disbelieving 'you really didn't _know_ '.

Tanegashima Shuuji, agent of chaos, is quick to insert pillows into their tickle fight, and within minutes mayhem has overtaken the entire hallway.

Touno has always had friends, always had goals to work towards. This, though, this is something entirely new.

Kimijima, teary eyed from laughter, is pressed into his side after he's wrung his revenge out of him, and whispers hushed strategy to take out some of the more intense pillow warriors.

Shuuji, neither friend nor foe, appears out of nowhere to stoke the fires of war. The twins, Oomagari, Byoudoin, Oni, Irie. People he's vaguely known for years, people he's only met two weeks ago, all of them come together.

It's incredibly stupid.

He thinks he could get used to this.

\---

The buzz leading up to the final team selection is so intense that it feels almost like he should have predicted the anticlimax.

It happens during running, on one of the mornings Kimijima has to leave to go film something-or-other. There aren't too many of those now, not after he got reprimanded, but they still happen.

It's not even really one thing, as much as it is a domino of smaller things in rapid succession:

A rabbit shoots out of the low grass next to the path they're jogging on, startling one of the older boys he's running with into leaping back. He lands on a branch, which whips up and hits another boy's ankle, sending him tripping forward.

Touno tries to get out of the way, but misjudges the distance. A flailing arm throws him off balance, and he misses the landing, rolling off the path. His foot gets hooked into a twisted root, stuck in place even though momentum isn't done with him.

There's an unpleasant, almost wet cracking noise, and his vision goes black.

When he comes to, there's worried faces hovering just in front of his. His foot has been released, but his knee feels hot-bad-no, this isn't right.

He shrieks at them to get out of his face, then tries to get back up on his feet. His knee disagrees.

They have to carry him back to get it looked at, which is the actual worst. Being held up is one thing ever, but he decides then and there he'll accept a bullet to the head before he'll accept another piggy back ride from anyone.

Once back at the training facility, he's immediately loaded into Kurobe's car and taken to the hospital to get photos taken. It's not really the 'don't worry, it's just a sprain' he was hoping for.

\---

Doctors tell him he's torn his meniscus.

It's not the death scentence he thought it might be. Rest, ice, some painkillers. Don't put weight on it.

He'll be fine, with time.

But be careful, the small print follows up. Stay careful. Now that it's happened once, it can happen again.

Like that wasn't always a risk.

\---

They let him stick around for the rest of camp because there's a mental science to tennis. He gets to study theory with his leg propped up and an ice-pack on his knee.

Shigure-senpai, one segment of the chain that kicked his knee out of commission, grovels by bringing him snacks and sitting with him while the others work through their training.

If he ever stood a chance at the team selection, Kimijima lost it the second Touno dropped out of the equation, but he doesn't seem resentful over it. Much like his loss at the nationals last year, his half-hearted victory over Irie, his general even smugness at rising up, he takes the news calmly.

It's kind of like he doesn't care.

It bothers Touno more than he wants to admit.

The first years, the ones that are sure they're going to fight to come back next year, send off the first year All-Japan Under 17 representatives Oni and Byoudoin with a night of board games and too much sugar, and begin packing their own bags the next morning.

They'll follow the tournament on TV, from home. Some of them he won't see again until nationals, or maybe even camp. It feels kind of surreal.

The twins offer to pass messages to any Aomori acquaintances they might play, since his old team is never making nationals without him, and he tells them 'stop sucking'.

Phone numbers are being passed around left and right, and Kimijima has fucking business cards on him, because of course he does.

Some squirrely kid he hasn't spoken to even once with a rat face tries to get him to trade his, which is a stark reminder that Kimijima isn't just a guy outside the safety of the camp grounds.

Shuuji adds him to a LINE group titled 'Tomorrow's Doubles ☆' along with Oomagari, Kimijima and the Mutsu twins. They'll have to be on the lookout for more members next year, he says with a winky face and a kiss, because Shuuji is a weirdo.

He's pretty sure this means they're friends now.

\---

"We'll be excited to see you again next year, Touno-kun," coach Saitou tells him with a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Make sure to rest that leg up properly."

Everyone has been handed an evaluation sheet with working points and advice, tailored to their performance.

Touno's tells him to watch out for tunnel vision, and notes that having someone to watch the back of the court for him is a solid asset to his play style.

It calls his two executions 'creative', but also 'limited in use' and 'too much style over substance in the long run', and he's going to fucking show them all.

\---

'Tomorrow's doubles' apparently means 'pictures of Shuuji's breakfast', 'pictures of Shuuji's parrot' and 'pictures of a cat Shuuji happened to come across today'.

Nobody seems quite sure how to talk to one another without first suffering through hours of training first.

Kimijima is easier to keep track of via twitter, where he announces livestreams and concerts, merchandise releases and an endless flow of selfies with various other idols Touno can't be bothered to remember.

Oomagari begins to post pictures of forests, the mountains at sunset, himself looking bored at some indoor surf pool. The twins occasionally pipe in to comment on things. (Or maybe it's just one of them. They're a unit, but Yuuho has been part of the group longer.)

Kimijima gets torn to shreds by a critic on live tv after his first drama appearance, and his usual single emoji responses to pictures dwindle to nothing.

Touno shows off pictures from his history books, uses the voice message function to ramble about a death by a thousand cuts, the actual mortality rates of hanging, the sheer artistry of the blood eagle.

To their credit, the others give detailed enough responses that he thinks they might even listen to the entire message.

'Surface of the spring' releases, and Kimijima bounces back from the hole most people seemed to have assumed would be an early grave for his career to a gentle, hopeful tune that carries sentiments of a lonely adversity overcome with patience and time.

He responds to a joking Shuuji's comment that they feared they'd never see him again with a selfie of himself on a film set.

'Well, they're still letting me on here, so I can't have completely blown it," he types, a rare moment of self-depreciation that Touno thinks might be the realest thing he's heard coming out of Kimijima since that one unfiltered laugh.

'If you do blow it,' he types back, meaning to sound comforting, 'at least you've got tennis to fall back on.'

'That's rude, Atsu,' Tanegashima says.

Kimijima doesn't respond.

\---

The only fanfare to being a second years is that the tennis club switches from practice mode to tournament mode, and that the school finds it in their budget to switch their jerseys from a drabby brown to a really cool red and black design that is right up Touno's alley.

Tokyo regionals are way more exciting than the Aomori ones, with the possibility of crossing paths with several familiar faces, and yet he's still not prepared when he's pitted against the robin-egg blue and dove grey jerseys of Saisen in the district tournament finals.

Kimijima blinks at him from across the court, but doesn't look particularly surprised.

They're a private institution targeted at allowing students to pursue music alongside their regular education, and they're stronger than they have any right to be.

Touno plays singles one, because he's his school's ace. Kimijima plays doubles one, and Touno feels kind of cheated on.

Touno's school wins in spite of Saisen's oversized cheer squad, but it's the finals so they'll both pass to the regionals anyway.

"That was pretty sad," he informs Kimijima, ignoring the throng of pretty girls clamoring to get his attention. "Aren't you supposed to be good at doubles?"

"Not all doubles pairings were created equal," Kimijima responds, diplomatically tipping his current partner under the bus. "They can't all be all-Japan contenders. Did your leg heal up yet?"

It twinges sometimes, if Touno thinks about it too hard, and there's an element of fear in his play now, times where he'll catch his weight on the wrong leg just in case.

"All fixed up," he says instead of admitting that, because they actually barely know each other, and there's girls holding their camera-phones out and filming like creepers.

"Glad to hear it. Now you just need to earn your invitation," Kimijma says pleasantly, like he's just pointing out a general fact, but Touno can recognise a challenge when he hears one.

"Same to you, priss," he says with a wide grin and a cackle that confuses the hell out of their onlookers.

He makes sure to snarl at some of the girls when he walks back to his own team, who seem slightly unsettled at his cheerful mood.

\---

Touno is popular in school for exactly three days, with a crowd he can't stand.

Apparently 'knowing a celebrity' is a personality trait to these people, and they're into it.

He gets a can of cold chocolate milk and upends it over a girl with big fake hair and false lashes, and takes the detention as a badge of honor.

When he tells the others, Kimijima responds with shock and horror, and warns him not to get into fights on his behalf again, using more words than he's spoken in all of the group chat's history combined.

Touno likes to imagine he's smiling as he does it.

\---

Annoyingly, they end up on opposite brackets in the regionals. Saisen loses by a hair's breadth in the semifinals, Touno in the finals. Both get into the nationals, but neither of them find it very satisfying.

The twins send a picture of themselves in unfamiliar white-and-orange jerseys holding up golden medals, captioned 'Wait for it, Tokyo. We've got a new trick.'

Shuuji sends three-hundred and seventeen pictures during the shinkansen trip over. Oomagari, who doesn't seem to be taking part in any school tournaments at all, keeps count.

\---

Fucking Byoudoin, with Makinofuji's high school team augmented by his new french… whatever they are, crushes Touno like a bug, right off the bat.

He'd been one hell of a player before, but there's a chasm between their skill levels across the court that makes Touno's knee twinge uncomfortably, and, shit, this guy is younger than he is, how do you measure up to that?

Byoudoin isn't here to make friends, isn't really here to win this specific tournament at all. Whatever happened during the past year, he seems to have set his sights on the world stage.

Touno had expected Oni to be the one who would lead them onto the world stage.

He's beginning to doubt.

\---

Kimijima makes it a little further than he does, far enough that reporters drive disgruntled fans out of the stands to take pictures.

The twins' team get knocked out in the second round, but their perfect synchro creates its own buzz, and they look smug when they join the rest of the Tomorrow's Doubles chat for lunch, each sitting on opposite side of Oomagari. (Who is there, despite not participating.)

Shuuji is still in the running, because of course he is, and Kimijima is absent. It's probably tough to schedule lunch in semi-public spaces when your face is plastered all across the city to advertise running shoes.

Lunch is nice anyway. Shuuji has no concept of money, and sneakily pays the bill before anyone else can pitch in. Touno buys himself new shoes.

\---

Makinofuji wins the nationals. Shuuji and Oni make them work for it.

\---

Where the first-time attendees unwittingly end up thrown head first into competition for the black jerseys, any of the returning campgoers are allowed to take a shot at the red ones.

Plenty of people sit it out, still tired from their bus ride there or just not confident enough to give it a go, but Kimijima has signed the two of them up before he even arrived.

Touno can feel the weird distance he hasn't wanted to think about between them evaporate, just like that.

"Let's kill them," Touno crows, earning a couple of looks from people around them.

"Ah, it's him," one of the others (Fuwa? He thinks it's Fuwa) says loudly, startling a few surprised laughs out of people. It doesn't really bother him.

Kimijima looks tired, and pushes his glasses up. "Just defeating them will be quite enough for me, Touno-kun."

"You're no fun," Touno tells him with a faux pout that doesn't quite hide his excited grin. "I'll kill them all by myself, then. You can just look pretty."

"That," Kimijima says, gently nudging his shoulder, "is not the point. We're a strong pair, Touno-kun. There is no need to be crude about it."

\---

He's not sure if either of them really anticipates making the cut. It's one thing to be confident, but with their newly minted badges (17 for Touno, 18 for Kimijima) pinned to their shirts, they're officially part of something big.

There's two other second years on the first string (Byoudoin as number 3, Duke at 8), as well as Yamato Yuudai, a first year with a weird haircut.

That Oni and Shuuji both decided to sit it out stings a little, but since he's ranking as a doubles player rather than on singles, Touno can't be too bothered by it.

There's some sort of drama happening around Byoudoin he's missing all of the details on, and he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know.

\---

As cool as the red jerseys are, nothing beats the coolness of getting to be on the foreign expedition group. Sure, it means less time getting to hang out with what he's come to think of as his tennis friends, but he gets to travel abroad _just_ to play tennis.

He's never left japan before, and he's excited as hell.

Three weeks of airplanes and training matches. They're warned in advance that it'll be extremely intensive, with little room for sightseeing and detours, and Touno doesn't even care. They're steps away from the top now, so close he can almost taste it, and he's got five new executions he's dying to show off.

\---

"Did you _see his face?_ "

Just as promised, there's barely any breathing space in between practice matches and minor tournaments. In-depth programs written by Kurobe are enforced by the coaches tagging along for supervision, and Touno can actually _feel_ himself improve.

If this lasted any longer than it does, he'd probably die.

As is, he's running on fumes and caffeine, too wound up from their matches against a local Korean team that morning to settle down in his seat.

He's spent the first ten minutes awaiting takeoff fiddling with the movie display in front of him, but airplanes take ages to get off the ground and he's got a solid twelve hours of flight ahead of him (to Europe!, so he'll figure all that out later.

"Oi, Kimijima, you're not listening!" Kimijima is fiddling with his phone, probably responding to his management or something, and is most definitely not listening if the half-shrug he gives Touno is any indication.

"You were talking about out opponent's face when you used your- your pear? You've been talking about it all morning." He sounds tired, but like, proper workout tired instead of too much idol work tired, and it's a good look on him.

Touno wonders if Kimijima regrets making it onto the first string, maybe. He's never been overly passionate about tennis. Maybe this level of training is crossing a line for him.

"It's called the pear of anguish. I mean, that or choke pear, but I'm using the old name because it really captures what it does, you know. It's this thing, usually pear-shaped, which can be pulled apart, sorta like a flower kind of deal, except they'd put it in people's mouth, or sometimes-"

Kimijima shoves his big white headphones over his ears and gives Touno the most sour look he's ever seen him make. It's adorable, kind of like an angry kitten.

As doubles partners, they're generally assigned to the same shit now. Hotel rooms, exercises, plane seat rows, and fucking hell they should be tearing at each other's throats because they have nothing in common, but Touno can't remember ever being so comfortable with anyone.

It shouldn't, but it just works.

Except, of course, the part where Kimijima retreats right back into his pretty little hermit's shell of professional perfection at even the slightest hint of a camera.

He flits around between the people they meet like a true social butterfly, and Touno is gradually figuring out exactly why Kimijima keeps qualifying for things in spite of his occasional lapse in performance.

(Which, admittedly, are getting rarer and rarer. Whatever bias Touno might have against Kimijima's more passive playstyle, he can't deny he's actually an impressive player most of the time.)

With Touno more accepting of his role as a doubles specialist, Kimijima stops hanging back, and begins to do what he's best at; talk.

His english is perfect, unaccented american, and almost everyone they play seems charmed by his attempts to communicate, amused by his persistence, eventually annoyed when they realise he's getting to them.

'Oh, same,' he's found himself thinking as he watched a chinese player splutter furiously, caught in Kimijima's web of intruige. He's not sure what they talked about or what his partner had on him, but he remembers the feeling of having the fluffy rabbit turn on the hunter.

They're an hour into the flight and he's tapping his foot restlessly, trying to keep his attention on his horror movie even though the poor quality display makes it hard to follow, when he feels pressure on his shoulder.

Kimijima, headphones still on his head, has fallen asleep.

In sleep, his slack face looks almost innocent, like he isn't the type to dig into people's insecurities and abuse them for tennis. His hair is messy, and his glasses are askew.

Figuring it's probably better than dealing with Kimijima complaining about indentations left on his face, Touno carefully removes the glasses, and hooks them over the pamphlet compartment of the chair in front of him.

There's no way he can comfortably watch his movie like this, so Touno settles back and stares at Kimijima's face instead.

After a moment's consideration, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and takes a picture.

Maybe he'll send it to the group chat when they land. Kimijima will pout at him and probably bitch about it getting out to the public, but Shuuji will love it.

Or maybe he won't.

Maybe he'll keep it himself instead.

\---

Kimijima is fluent in French.

Fuck.

\---

The last leg of the Europe part of the trip is in Madrid, where they, at long last, get a single day off. Alongside that; a warning.

They'll be playing to keep their positions pretty much right after they get back, to give the coaches a chance to see their improvements from the trip.

Touno has worked on his endurance, Kimijima on his technique. They've crammed half a year's worth of improvement into the past three weeks, it feels like, but the way the warning gets delived makes it feel inadequate. Fuck, but it would be embarasing to walk back into camp and immediately lose his jersey.

Byoudoin and Duke feel like they're living in a world that's kind of beyond what mere mortals like the rest of them understand, but they're not as hard to get along with as he expected.

Kimijima tried to establish himself as friendly and polite, and Byoudoin told him to cut the crap. Immediately after, Byoudoin started asking them questions, testing either their insight or their tactical capablities.

Touno gets accepted on his fierceness, with Byoudoin's gruff commentary about liking his spirit feeling oddly like a blessing.

Kimijima's commentary apparently impresses, and while there's only so much idol preening Byoudoin tolerates, his input is treated as valuable. If Byoudoin is to be next year's number one, neither of them is going to protest.

Yamato, their little first years, is impressive, but. There's fear in his swings, and all of them notice. Touno's knee twinges in sympathy.

They spend their one free time milling about stores, with Touno critically eyeing the contents of several boutiques while Kimijima takes selfies with fifty different pairs of sunglasses, five local landmarks and one massive, luxurious bowl of ice cream that he takes three bites of before citing his diet and pawning it off on Touno.

Who is, like, not complaining.

"Do you just not eat?" he asks, between savoring bites of ice-cream.

"We've spent three weeks in close quarters, Touno-kun," Kimijima says, and his voice has no right to be doing that to Touno's name. "You know I eat food."

"Yeah, rabbit food and bird portions. Why'd you buy this if you were never going to eat it?"

"It's called a diet, that shouldn't surprise you. I don't want to ruin my skin any more than all this plane travel is doing already. As for why, food pictures are good filler for social media. What were you expecting?"

Sometimes Touno wonders what Kimijima would be like without all the idol baggage he seems to concern himself with 24/7.

He tries to imagine it, but comes up blank.

\---

They win their shuffle matches upon their return, but to everyone's surprise many of the third years don't.

Shuuji and Oni aren't a surprise, really. Kimijima told him one evening, in the privacy of their hotel room, about the tournaments little Shuuji won as a child, the sheer talent he must have. Oni, even having apparently conceded to Byoudoin, already more than established himself the previous year.

The others, though; Oomagari is skilled when he isn't tired of everything and everyone around him, Ochi worked hard for his captain's spot and it shows. Kaji is a fast bastard. Fuwa's not as good as his ego tells him he is, but it's close.

Genius 10, they call them. The next generation.

\---

Touno's assigned to Shuuji's room, which is fine by him. Kimijima gets put with Migihashi, which is also fine.

If Touno kind of misses him, nobody has to know.

\---

They get outshone by Shuuji and Oomagari, who manage to steal spots on the final team selection. It's rude and Touno has opinions, especially when Kimijima gets asked to tag along with the support team.

It makes sense, in a way; Kimijima's strength lies in connections, and he can play the long game by starting to build them now. But Kimijima also doesn't _care_ about tennis the way some of them do, and that smarts a little.

"We'll just have to prepare the stage for you next year, Atsu~" Tanegashima says from his bed. "Hey, wanna help me figure out boat stuff?"

"Remind me, why _aren't_ you just taking a plane?"

"I'll leave the flying death traps for everyone else to die in," Shuuji says, weirdly cheerful all things considered. "Besides, isn't going by boat way cooler? It's going to take really long, so they'll have to get creative with the lineup until I get there. Should be interesting."

Shuuji sounds far too excited about the prospect of being a nuisance, which probably shouldn't come as a surprise.

"Maybe they'll make Kimijima substitute until you get there," he grumbles, stretching the cheeks of a weird rubber stress ball Shuuji had with him for some reason. "Even though he doesn't know how to play with Oomagari at all, and they'll suck."

"San-san is flexible," Shuuji says. "He can work with anyone, I believe in him. But maybe…"

There's something ominous about the way he trails off, and Touno rolls over to look at him. "Maybe wha- what the _fuck_ dude!"

Shuuji's grinning face hovers minimeters away from his own, hands planted on either side of Touno's shoulders so he can't escape. "Or maybe Atsu doesn't want San-san to play with anyone else?"

"Oh fuck off, Shuuji." Touno can feel his ears burn, and he quickly moves to kick Shuuji off.

Unfortunately that's easier said than done, and before he knows what's happening Shuuji is cocooned around him like some sort of fucking parasite, and they're rolling over the floor with Touno shrieking obscenities while Shuuji crows about how cute he is.

He's pretty sure Kimijima knocked, because he's a stickler for manners, but neither of them would have heard it through the ruckus.

"Am I… interrupting?" There's something weirdly stiff about the way Kimijima asks, and Touno suddenly really does not want to be this close to Shuuji.

So naturally, he bites him on the arm.

"Atsu is mean to me," Shuuji whines a minute later, unbitten arm slung around Kimijima's shoulders as he admires the red mark on his forearm. "I'm wounded, San-san."

"I'm sure you're suffering greatly," Kimijima agrees mellowly. "That's not actually why I'm here."

"No, no, you're doing it wrong. You're supposed to kiss it better~"

If Shuuji is trying to paint himself a victim here, the shit-eating grin on his face is really not helping his case.

"What is going on in that head of yours _now_ ," Kimijima asks, sounding exhasperated. "No, don't answer that, I don't want to know. You know what, help me out and I'll kiss your boo-boo all better for you."

Touno sits up a little straighter. It's not like Kimijima to go along with nonsense quite so easily.

"What happened?" Maybe Shuuji senses his concern, because he looks a little more serious now.

"I'm missing… things." Kimijima looks troubled. "Migihashi left the door to our room unlocked, and I'm pretty sure someone went through my bag."

"Wait, you serious?" Shuuji asks, looking taken aback. Touno hisses angrily, because, what? "You sure they took something?"

"I'm sure," Kimijima says. "It's, well. It's specific stuff. Used deodorant, my toothbrush. Underwear. Nothing I can't replace, but…"

An unsettled silence falls in the room as he trails off.

Kimijima coughs uncomfortably. "I asked the coaches about it, but whoever did it didn't pass the camera at the hallway entrance so there aren't really any suspects. It's just…"

"Hella creepy?" Touno finishes for him. "Holy shit Kimijima, if you find them I'll kill them for you." He's worryingly sincere.

"We'll help you ask around," Shuuji promises, because really, what else are they supposed to do? "If anyone's got a guilty conscience, we'll figure them out."

\---

They never figure out who the thief is, and Kimijima closes off.

Oh, he's friendly and polite as ever during the final day of camp, but he distances himself the same way he does over LINE, or any other time he feels watched.

It's a shit place to leave off, and Touno spends the bus ride home kicking himself for not knowing what to say to fix it.

\---

They keep the Tomorrow's Doubles chat, which intensely follows the few members that are present at the world cup.

Shuuji assigns Kimijima the duty of live commenting, and Touno thinks it's to keep him from getting too stuck on the theft. He's kind of glad Kimijima isn't alone.

\---

Kimijima sends him a picture of a charcoal gray shirt with a graphic of a red and black lizard on it, followed by a question mark. It's the first time he's contacted him via LINE directly, outside of any groups.

'Are those rhinestones?' Touno asks, after squinting at the lizard's scales, which have a weird sheen to them.

'Holographic foil of some sort, I think," Kimijima responds, instead of informing Touno he meant to send that to someone else.

'Badass,' Touno replies. He's not sure what to make of the exchange.

\---

He's even less sure what to make of Kimijima wearing the shirt in a selfie he posts on his twitter a week later, not in the least because it's _really_ not his style.

\---

They're teetering on the edge of _something_ , Touno thinks. If Kimijima agrees, he doesn't give any indication of it.

\---

Kimi-sama gets an apology from critics and an award for his role in a recent drama, Shuuji a debut as a model. Byoudoin travels, Ochi grows even taller.

Touno feels small and weirdly plain as he finishes his second year of high school. His teachers badger him about the future, not accepting tennis as his only career path, so he begrudgingly starts thinking over other options.

He finds a bracelet with a red bead on it in the back of his desk drawer. It's cheap-looking, and several years out of fashion, and it fits around his wrist snugly, just a tad too small.

It spent two years with Kimijima, and he tells himself that's not the reason he's wearing it.

He's too young to be getting this pathetic.

\---

Playing with a partner has unleashed a feral playstyle within him that doesn't lend itself particularly well to singles anymore, but nobody on his school's team can match him in doubles. They want to win, sure, but not enough.

Or maybe he's the one who doesn't want it enough this time; the nationals feel dull and petty next to the very real possibility of reaching the world stage. With the former third years' pity selection gone, they're pretty much guaranteed to be up there.

His invitation is secured anyway, based on his camp performance rather than his nationals run. He doesn't quite throw the whole thing, but he's a little ashamed to realize he also doesn't really try.

\---

Kimijima is everywhere, all the time. It's not just the one incidental ad in Shibuya anymore; hardware stores play clips of his new music video, drama posters get big spreads in train stations.

He's probably not around as much as the top sellers of the industry, the full time idols who don't have to split their lives between their career and school, but Touno feels hyperaware of every time he passes that stupid face, winking at him.

They message back and forth, usually about food or clothes, but it's… difficult. There's a barrier between them now that wasn't there before, and Touno isn't sure what caused it.

Or maybe there isn't. Kimijima has never been very approachable via text.

Shuuji on the other hand is a train with no brakes, giving constant updates on his modeling, his tennis, whatever comes to mind. Kimijima doesn't seem to have trouble talking to _him_ at least, if the sheer amount of times Shuuji manages to mention San-san in any given conversation is anything to go by.

Touno isn't sure whether he's trying to help or just deliberately being a pain in the ass.

\---

He's so excited for camp it's stupid, and everyone notices.

\---

All of the Genius 10 qualify for the foreign expedition, but Shuuji and Oni both choose to sit it out. Kaji temporarily takes over as number 5, even though Oni doesn't technically need to give up his spot in order to stay behind.

Irie could have made it, Tokugawa Kazuya _definitely_ should. Maybe Touno should have been paying attention to camp drama after all.

Five minutes before takeoff his phone pings with a message from Shuuji.

'Don't have too much fun with San-san~☆', it reads, followed by a sticker of a bunny blowing a kiss.

He glances over at Kimijima just in case he needs to justify why Shuuji is sending him kissy faces, but Kimijima is too busy frowning at his own phone to notice.

\---

Neither of them has ever really played nice with their opponents, in spite of Kimijima's protests against Touno's methods throughout the years.

Touno has thirteen executions, and Kimijima has numerous techniques of his own that all pale in the face of his negotiation skills. Those may have just been aligned to their interests when they first started out, but they're specialisations now.

There's only so sharp one can hone a blade, coach Kurobe's notes advise. If they want to move beyond the level they're at, they'll need to focus on their actual understanding of _doubles_ , rather than play in on each other's gimmicks.

To Touno, it sounds like they're being split. To Kimijima it seems to be an excuse to try and push strategy into their games, focusing primarily on keeping Touno in line before he hits his adrenaline high.

It's annoying. Unfortunately, it also works.

They're halfway through Asia, and they're more in synch than they've ever been, falling back in a comfortable routine of badgering Kimijima with his history lessons and getting annoyed groans in return.

Sure, they're not the twins, but considering even Touno can't tell them apart anymore, they shouldn't want to be the twins anyway.

\---

Their comfortable routine gets interrupted in China, when a japanese girl on vacation approaches them for a photo, overhears their conversation and feels well within her rights to tell Touno off for bothering Kimi-sama with morbid nonsense.

Touno, naturally, tells her to go fuck herself.

Kimijima, ever the gracious idol, offers her a photo and an autograph, but it isn't enough to keep her from blogging about the unsavory types he hangs around with.

It's not big enough to become a scandal, and a few posts on alt accounts that Kimijima apparently has at ready 'just in case' have his more loyal audience turn on the girl and scold her for not respecting his privacy. It really shouldn't have impacted anything else.

But just like every other time his idol lifestyle oversteps into his tennis career, Kimijima withdraws. The girl's criticism of Touno, specifically, seems to have struck a nerve, and Touno can _see_ the wheels spinning in that pretty little mind, trying to calculate whether or not their aquaintance is becoming a liability.

It doesn't stop their doubles from improving, though, and after an unfortunate misstep in Italy he has bigger things to worry about than Kimijima's overthinking.

His fucking knee hurts.

Kimijima will come around before the world cup, he's sure.

He forgets that Kimijima has never cared about winning the way he has. It's a bit of a blind spot.

\---

The middle schools change both the rules and the game all at once, and Kimijima is the weather vane who leaps on the opportunity.

Oh, there's no confirmation, nothing concrete to base his suspicions on, but Touno knows how Kimijima operates. There's a constant tug-o-war between his career and tennis, and somewhere between the lines Kimijima has become unable to coincile sharp and morbid Touno with the pristine picture he's trying to paint.

He should be fucking furious, but he's not.

He's going to come back from this, and he's going to fucking _win_ , the satisfying, gritty kind of way that Kimijima can't bring himself to strive for.

Touno _cares_. He's going to prove that makes him strong.

\---

Kimijima's apology comes during the match against france, much later. It's not in words, because he's so good with words that they've become meaningless.

Instead it's spelled out in action, in sweat and bloody knees, and more effort than Touno has ever seen him give anything.

I'm sorry, those bloody knees say. He's not sure either of them knows how to verbalise for what, so when Kimijima tries…

"Ok! Treatment complete!"

Like hell he's going to let him make things weirder than they already are.

\---

"Touno-kun," Kimijima calls out later, and nobody bats an eye as he drops his conversation midway through to walk over.

Shuuji gives him an odd look, followed by a slightly sharper one aimed at Kimijima. Touno isn't sure what brought it on, exactly, but it's sweet that Shuuji cares. Kimijima actually looks a little sheepish.

"What's up," he greets without missing a beat, one hand resting on the bag of medical supplies he carries with him. "Knee still good?"

"My knees are fine,Touno-kun," Kimijima says, and he's a damn good actor, because Touno is pretty sure he would have missed the discomfort in his voice if they hadn't known each other quite so long. "Can we talk? In private, I mean?"

Touno _really_ hopes this isn't leading up to another apology. He's got several months of knee-rehabilitation to work through before he's ready for feelings.

"Sure, lead the way."

\---

They end up in Kimijima's room, with him sprawled on the bed and Kimijima sitting on a chair, because that's apparently less awkward than joining him.

Kimijima, foolishly believing there is such a thing as 'the right words', quietly stews in trying to figure out what to say. Touno, who never really had that problem, picks up a pillow and flings it at his face.

"So, how'd you enjoy giving it your all?"

Kimijima, glasses knocked askew by the pillow, gives him an unimpressed look.

"You realise I'm trying to apologise, right?"

"Oh, I know. I just don't wanna hear it." He's already heard it where it matters, loud and clear. "I'm more interested in getting that fighting spirit out with me on the field, instead of some lame middle schooler."

"I- you were serious? About wanting to play again?" Kimijima looks baffled.

"The fuck would I be lying about that for, asshole? But you gotta start answering your texts seriously. No more convenient camp schedule to decide shit _for_ us."

Kimijima looks struck, genuinely thrown off guard, for a whole several seconds before he composes himself, slides back into his idol snake skin and smiles.

"You could always try calling me, you know. That tends to be a lot faster than making me decipher your obscure kanji choices."

Something clicks in Touno's head; they met because Kimijima hadn't been able to read a bunch of road signs. It made sense, because everyone knew he'd grown up in America, but…

"You still can't read?"

The snakeskin cracks again, the real Kimijima's annoyance outgrowing whatever need he feels to maintain his facade.

"I can _read_ , Touno-kun. Just because I don't recognise every technical kanji out in your violent history nerd rants- No, never mind. I'm not going into this." He pushes up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, like just being around Touno gives him a headache.

Touno, who has just seen Kimijima pour his heart and soul into a tennis match, who has seen Kimijima play petty tricks at camp, who has seen Kimijima fall asleep on a plane, who has seen Kimijima laugh until he cried, doesn't believe it for a second.

"I guess I can call next time," Touno muses to the ceiling. "Accommodation for the disabled and all that shit, right?"

Kimijima picks up the pillow Touno threw at him earlier. Touno gives him a cheeky grin.

He's anticipating eating feather down thrown from a distance, so he shrieks in surprise when Kimijima leaps out of his chair to stradle him instead, pushing the pillow right into his face.

"Who's _disabled_ here, mister medical team," Kimijima growls, and Touno's laughter is smothered in pillow.

He bucks Kimijima off easily enough, because he's got the core and arm strength for it, and Kimijima had to know he would. Kimijima always knows fucking everything.

(Except the french ambidexterity fake-out, of course, but Kimijima's been subtly making eyes at Tristan since they met at the training tour, and Touno can't entirely blame him for being distracted by those legs.)

They end up flipped, Touno sprawled out on top of Kimijima, faces a hint and a thousand missed opportunities apart. Suddenly his heart is beating in his throat instead of his chest.

"Well, you already got your chance at support last year," he croaks out. "Might as well cover all my bases."

"That's the narrative we're going with?" Kimijima sounds a little breathless.

"Yeah, I think so. Sounds better than me fucking up my knee for no reason at all, right?" Because Kimijima might have fucked him over, but Touno's not letting him hijack responsibility for what happened later.

"Sure, why not. Free medical training for if we need it for Rakuten." Never mind that Kimijima's knee is probably not supposed to look like the return of the mummy for just a scrape.

Touno grins wickedly. "Rakuten, huh. Putting the stakes pretty high for someone who's still 'thinking about it'."

"Well, we've put an awful lot of time and effort into this doubles combination by now. It would be a shame if we never get to play an international tournament together, right?"

For all his attempts at feigned nonchalance, Kimijima's face is getting redder by the second. Touno doesn't feel inclined to move at all.

"Oh yeah, it'd be a real waste," he agrees, lifting a hand to brush some of his long hair out of Kimijima's face. "World's not ready to lose us just yet."

They're quiet for a long moment after that. He's been teetering on the edge for so long Touno doesn't even feel impatient anymore, content to wait for whatever Kimijima's brain is stuck on to work itself out.

Kimijima's fingers, soft and perfectly maintained as ever, close around his wrist, and he stares up at him with wide brown eyes that feel genuine and inviting for the first time since they've met.

"Forgive me if I'm presuming, but-"

"Nah," Touno cuts him off. "You're not."

A flash of annoyance plays across his face, but those have never made Kimijima less pretty. Then the fingers of his other hand slide into Touno's hair, at the nape of his neck, and he's pulling him down, down, down to finally finish the collision course he's started on a random road in Tokyo, five years ago.

Yeah, Touno thinks. He can work with this.

**Author's Note:**

> 'I'm going to type out a quick scene of the way Kimijima and Touno first met and then go back to writing my other fic!!!'  
> -Zee, a fool


End file.
